grassy field with rustgrassy field with rustgrassy field with rust2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I'd heard about the old car, three miles out of town and all alone. I just had to see it. It was time. School was over for the summer, my friends were at camp, and I was bored. I set out Thursday morning for a hike, following directions that Uncle Will had given me. As the heat was still growing with the climb of the sun, I found the field and wandered around looking, and looking some more, trying not to be distracted by bees buzzing in the flowers, and butterflies and baby mice. Then it was there, just a bit upslope from the bottom of a natural swale, and just below the sky at the top of the bank. A 1959 Cadillac convertible, but not like the old music videos showed.
This one was part buried in grass gone to seed and turned almost white golden with the dry heat. The tires were collapsed cracked pieces and there wasn't a trace of pink paint anywhere. Rust owned it, and it held on so tight that holes were showing in what used
in praise of scavengersOh, those crows,in praise of scavengers3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
perceptive and wise and with a sense of time and season.
They know how emotional humans get
when Christmas comes.
What suckers they are for feeding the birds,
an act of love when they can give no love to others
The crows settle in apartment block parking lots
the way seagulls gather in shopping strips
next to fast food joints
or hover and flap in masses
on the scrapheaps of garbage scows
sent from the city
with the dregs of living
Grass AngelSunsplashed buildings, clear blue skiesGrass Angel3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
No traffic, no pedestrians; silence.
The end of June, the end of music.
No birds, no wind, no dreams
except this one.
This clinical, sterile dream,
Inside looking out
As the sun slowly makes its way
across the sky,
The only sound is the ticking clock.
I'm going outside to make a grass angel.
RecessionA man on fire walked calmly out of the building, through glass doors that were maybe there, maybe not. Hit the bricks, pound the pavement, skin a cat or two. I saw what he was thinking, it formed a black cloud above his head.Recession3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
He thought of old photographs and wicker furniture, of how dark it was inside for all of those plants to thrive. He thought of chances taken and opportunities missed. The monologue in his burning head was a constant buzzing fly, a death rattle.
Old TV shows, bad poetry, seasons, songs and metalworks; nothing could shut out the memories or calm the storm inside. Treading water, he wished that he could fly again. Over the horizon he walked, never seeing the starving child scuffling along behind.
A man on fire disappeared from the picture plane today, through glass doors that were maybe there, maybe not. Hit the road, Jack, make tracks, don't step on a crack. Leaving dust and ash, smoke-feathers and birthday candles, he receded.
TiredI am tired, heavy-footed, worn with wear I wear my hairTired3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Cold air blows through windows trying to nip the buds
I watch the cigarette smoke whip through the air currents
Saddened by the sun's insistence, shining on a day like
I am rust, I am crushed metal, junkyard darkness, graveyard
I can't remember when I remembered what I'm trying so hard
Fire in oil drums replace the sun and the screaming and singing's
I can't sing anymore, like Clancy can't, and the noise in my head's a
Witches MarketMidnight fell like an old black bird;Witches Market3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I meant to wait for you.
There were tables rich with
amethyst and pearls,
and fragrance by the fistful,
mint and petrichor.
I meant to wait for you.
You were gliding through the haze
with your knotted bag half full-
shadows flicked their tongues
above your knees;
you meant to look for me.
Moments ran like mice;
a silver pot, a cup of tea.
She stank of vinegar and thyme-
the hand was hers, the heart was mine.
Her iron eyes reflected flame;
she took my lungs, she took my name,
though you had meant to look for me,
and I had to meant to wait for you
amid the black salt and the brew.
Ash for the handle,
Birch for the brush,
Willow for the cord that binds the twigs.
newshours no longer whittle into daysnews3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
strangled and uncalendared;
forbidden rituals of a new dark Eros
clothesline sheets and bed throes → blunders in a blue face
and sensing your reversals, i’ve grown and grown impossibly old;
god’s bad math:
infinities as remainders.
however they lapse
i spend the better part of them
burning through the flyleaves
for mandalas sealed in hell bank
for ashes of your epilogue
for the end of throats
in songs and news.
no one can regret their past
but of futures . . .
like when planets will re-purpose you
into interstellar fruit bats or thyme pulled from the brink of comets
and you’re wondering why i'll never find you
when datebooks write us in the living.
MeanderingHardly a mountain, though on lowering days its head sits wreathedMeandering3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
By the mists of a passing front, aged and befogged as bygone elders
Doddering about before there were names for the malaise
That hazed their thinking
And from this modest crown there slouched and sloped
A long shoulder, meandering down to meadows below
Pausing now and again to coddle a pleasant hollow
Casting a sloping pitch enough to rush a torrent
After a sudden shower
Its glint and glimmer burble among the stones
To join a rill and plash and swirl and putter about a root
It's there I'm apt to wander
Not much of a path, hard passed and thorny
As twisted and narrow as the thoughts of bigoted men
Treading there finds stern resistance and stones to turn the foot
The clatter and crunch of brittle leaf acorns pop and skitter
A plenteous crop, beyond the appetite of wild things at forage
Leathery husks abound, pignut hickory the ebon stains of walnut
On taking pause the quiet lay, a
Eventthe stars are sharp and the wind has teethEvent3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
night is black as a bodybag
clanking, buzzing sounds surround
as the wind has its way with the town
dimlights from the hospital over there
cheerios in milk over here
the night ripped in two by the surgeons saw
the dreamless, the hopeless, the flawed
(sometimes the world shifts on its axis
and never settles right again)
the wind is sharp and the stars have teeth
chewing through the darkness
eating dreams, vomiting dust to the ground
the surgeon pulls his mask down
nothing more that we could do
goodnight, i've other things to tend to
bonesaw and flatline sounds surround
as the wind has its way with the town
ashesthe ashes of loveashes1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
just like always
the busses still run
where we once walked
we never quite went into
except to hot dog stands
Lots of onions and grease
and mustard in our minds
My mind, anyway
I look into the park
and see lakes
Lakes we never swam in
Never soaked in the ghostly emotion
never cooled enough to last
We burned on park edges
where I stand now
Watching a bus go by
With you on it.
Lancelot Price 2013 October 17
DrownBlackness at three AMDrown3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Books of hymns
Ribbons, wreathes, smoke
Phone calls from the dead
These things I know
EastMy window faces east, I sit at my desk and stareEast3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
at the headlights crawling west past the backlit buildings
Sometimes I watch from the roof, looking west
just to get a different view, but it's all the same
Days come and go, nights come and go, but I stay
There's a place by the ocean I dream about, early morning mist
grey water, grey skies becoming blue, solitude, stillness
I keep a key in my pocket with "love" written on it, and wonder
what it might unlock; maybe trade the city dust for ocean spray
Someday, one day, but not today, it's never today
I close the blinds against the rising of the sun and go back to work
But the key in my pocket is warm against my thigh, it says "fly"
But I wait; fate will find me in the right place at the right time
It always does, somehow, and my brain whispers to my heart
to be patient, good things wait, but farther down the line
DinnerTin cup rattle, see how the stars align tonight?Dinner2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Wooden table thunk, look, they're smiling!
Scrape of chair on wooden floor, one just winked at me
Meager meal by candlelight, but so happy, so happy
These are the days of wonder and love, the little days
The bright spots stitched in between work and boredom
Between births and deaths and catastrophes, these are the days
Leave the dishes for the kitchen elves, come to bed, she says
And the stars really do wink and smile
Waiting For ZeroesWaiting For ZeroesWaiting For Zeroes1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
The battery's dead on my Braille translator
Fingers numb on keyboards
"Can't touch this." never meant so much or little
scrambling slowly on skull's insides
The roads are oiled
iced and dicey
All the pips are ones
Tractionless in aspic
grapes in green
All the pips are ones
Why does binary
never use twos?
thirty-threeIt took thirty-three years to reach the place my dad wasthirty-three1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
He was there that long ago
Standing on a hill and looking out to far horizons
I wonder if he saw the same things I see
I know now that he loved me
though I couldn't see that then
Ahead the mountain stands
Climbed or no, I cannot say
but I walk on
On to the next and higher hill.
Lancelot Price 2013 August 29
Soul JuiceSqueeze out the last drops in glorious colorSoul Juice3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The rind is mashed, rotten, ruined
But the juice is beautiful
When I dream of myself, or others, we're
always in our prime
seekerI wander much through such old country,seeker2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a ghost who's thinking of other ghosts,
missing them and their effects,
an exile from the present, and from past.
I Am EyesI am eyes, that unholy duality.I Am Eyes3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Six deer browse in the dead field;
they have survived late fall
with its plague of men and guns.
I am eyes, turned to the pregnant sky.
Pockets for hands, thick wool for feet,
but eyes take the cold head-on.
There is clamor far away. There is cackle and bray.
There is grumble and wine, there is raw meet.
Handed over like suspicion, taken like greed,
like gold from the cocoa-skinned hide-hidden
lesser gods, there disappears my world.
But I know nothing of this. I am sleepy.
I am eyes.
singularityIt was a country with no exit sign.singularity3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Nobody wanted one.
I ask you a question>
What sort of place is that?
Where can I find it?
EatEat the morning, those blue-grey monsters in the skyEat2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The shaky leaves tremble at the thought of You, out there
Eating away at the perimeters, sucking in the daylight
Eyeing people in windows, wondering how they might taste
The texture of brick, and concrete, and asphalt, and metal
But mostly that mellow wide-open sky where the monsters cower
Cotton-candy fluff won't satisfy such a voracious appetite
But the world looks better without a sky, and now you can move on
The stars are invisible against a blank sky, go inside and drink beer
Until you begin throwing furniture through windows and
Howling your loss like an idiot banshee too late for warning
And wonder why you'd do such a thing as to eat the sky
gonethat limp,gone4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
left warbling on my desk
where the glass
went sick with longing -
how do we start over?
your note said it all
when you put down the pen
and I could feel the air
forget your name,
coals in the grate
hissing their warning
like a dirge.
i was born too late
and the robins bare mourning
on their breasts
your feet always knew
the way home,
fighting their instincts,
with the purge
of simple lies
crushed under them
like the lost gift
thenIt came like a slow glass hurricanethen3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Broke on us
sparsestark hard beautysparse3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
few things move
few things grow
pipes skirl their wildness in the air
above mountains and water
in the moments of a life without fire
when I can feel clearly
I am born and borne aloft
and truly fly
Lancelot Price 2012 February 06